


proxy

by sirenseven



Series: props [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dark Bruce Wayne, Father/Son Incest, Gentle Sex, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Jason Todd Has Issues, M/M, Power Dynamics, Power Play, not tagging Alfred or Dick, there's a tag i'm not gonna be using very often lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24690187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenseven/pseuds/sirenseven
Summary: Jason has managed to go his entire life without grooming a twelve-year-old, so there's no way he should get a rep as the uncontrollable id here.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne, referenced Tim Drake/Bruce Wayne, referenced Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: props [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728181
Comments: 16
Kudos: 139





	proxy

**Author's Note:**

> I recognize this is a very weird thing to put in explicit fanfic, but apparently a lot of people look at this, so I'd feel remiss if I didn't encourage anyone who is able to do so to donate to [a bail fund](https://www.communityjusticeexchange.org/nbfn-directory#national) or use this [act blue donation link](https://secure.actblue.com/donate/bail_funds_george_floyd) which will automatically split up your donation between them.
> 
> anyway, back to your (ir)regularly scheduled darkfic where I promise not to remotely mention current events

Jason perks up as soon as the front door opens.

It's not that he wasn't interested in listening to Alfred. The return of Bruce and their little lamb is just a little bit more interesting.

Jason sets his hot chocolate on the kitchen island—Alfred is still refusing to divulge the recipe, the monster—and leans casually beside it. His legs cross wide, sat on a bar stool. Jason has his most charming smile in place when Tim enters the kitchen, shadowed by Bruce.

“Welcome back, Timbo,” Jason greets, cheerful as anything.

Tim stops at the far end of the kitchen, tense. Jason wonders if he'd be backing up if Bruce weren't pressed behind him.

Alfred's eyes flit between the two boys.

“I trust,” he says, in that voice that allows no disagreements, “that whatever problems have mounted before will be put to rest in this house.”

To Jason's surprise, he's looking just as pointedly at Tim as at Jason. Tim nods silently, eyes cutting back to Jason. Not the most convincing performance. Jason takes over reassurance duties, since the kid clearly fucking sucks at it.

“Don't worry, Alfie,” he says, kicking off the bar stool. “I know we got off to a bad start, but we're really making a fresh go of it.”

He stalks towards the pair in the doorway. Tim stands stiff, holding eye contact, and firmly does not flinch as Jason gets closer. He's a clash of distaste and wariness, and honestly Jason doesn't care which wins.

“Seriously,” he says, clapping a hand onto the kid's rigid shoulder, “I'm really glad I didn't kill you after all.”

–

He catches Tim again between the bathroom and the study, evening tipping into patrol hours. Jason only manages to make it a surprise because the kid's face is buried in his phone, typing. The moment Tim notices him, his shoulders rise and phone lowers.

“Who ya' texting?” Jason asks, weight thrown in a casual lean, enjoying the height he has over the kid.

“No one,” Tim says, frowning.

Jeez, he's surly without his Bat-minder. He pulls away a second too slow when Jason snaps out for the phone.

“Hey—!”

Jason ducks back, prize in hand. It is indeed a text thread on the screen, Dick's name and smiling face at the top. Jason hasn't seen him out of uniform since coming back, only as Nightwing. Shorter hair than when Jason was a kid, in the picture and in person. Otherwise, even without the mask, there's no sign of the intervening years on Dick's face. Pretty bastard.

Near the top of the screen is a text from Dick, an hour ago: _Tell me when you get home_.

_Home safe and sound_ , from Tim, more recently. There's no listed time between the next messages, so Jason assumes they were quicker responses.

_Run into anyone?_ Dick asks.

_No just me._

“You little liar,” Jason laughs.

After that is a heartfelt reminder from Dick that Tim can text, call, or come over whenever he wants. Not hard to guess _his_ favorite brother. The text box holds a half-written reply from Tim, which Jason deletes.

“Dearest Dick,” he says, fingers tapping over the on-screen keyboard, “regret to inform you I cannot talk any longer, as I am too busy imagining my ass getting pounded into a mattress—”

“Give it back,” Tim snaps, forcing Jason to fend off his retrieval attempts.

“—but I promise I will pencil in time to suck you off later. Do you prefer facials or swallowing?”

Tim finally manages to snatch the phone, darting away and against the wall. Basic positioning: protecting his back. Jason lets him go, pretending its because he's harassed Tim enough and not because the kid genuinely caught him off guard with that last grab and Jason's pride couldn't suffer a failed attempt to re-steal it.

“Damn, and I had a really good sign off prepared, too,” he says. “Very dirty.”

Tim scowls, eyes flicking to the screen only for the second he's willing to look away from Jason. His glare deepens when he sees all Jason has actually written: _I'm a slut_.

What? It's not like he was gonna press send.

“Can you just back off?” Tim says, finger jamming onto what Jason assumes is the delete button. He clicks off the phone and shoves it in his pocket. Basic positioning part two: get your hands free.

“I was just trying to help out,” Jason says, faux-offended. “I mean, I'd hate for Dickie to get the wrong impression about what you actually want.”

Whether Tim's red in humiliation or anger, the effect still makes him grin.

“Unless that's already why you went up there today,” Jason continues. “Does Bruce share you with him too? Or do you think Dick also takes it up the ass?”

He knows Dick would never do the first, too shiny and stuck up. He now also knows—still reeling from that revelation—that the second isn't true either. But riling Tim up is too goddamn tempting, and _way_ too easy. The kid looks half a second from either bolting, crying, or taking a swing. Serves him right for that disappearing act he pulled.

“Boys.”

They both turn. Bruce stands at the end of the hall, stoic. Jason smiles, cheerfully ignoring the note of disapproval in his tone.

“Ready for patrol?” Bruce adds to Tim.

Tim glances at Jason, jaw clenched.

“Yeah, on my way.” He wastes no time in slipping past Bruce towards the cave.

Jason follows slower, Bruce falling into step. He expected some kind of plan or lecture or musing, but Bruce doesn't speak up. The walk to the study is short, but the silence grates on Jason.

“So how long you think you'll be out?” he asks, mostly for something to say.

Bruce gives him a look, brows raised. “Getting a little impatient?”

The clock in the study is closed, though Tim must have walked through it just a minute ago. Jason knows its an ingrained habit to be careful over Cave entrances, but he still decides to call the kid a selfish little twit in his head anyway.

“Think you're confusing me with you,” he says to Bruce, watching the man reopen the hidden door. Jason has managed to go his entire life without grooming a twelve-year-old into his sex toy, so there's no way he should get a rep as the uncontrollable id here. Creeps in glass batcaves shouldn't throw stones, or whatever.

Only as Bruce swings the clock shut behind them does Jason realize he's been following Bruce down to the Cave on habit, with no real reason to be there. Jason has done only bits and pieces in the mask lately—most of them cleaning up his own mess so no dangerous characters get it in their heads to come for him after the waves he made with his little Joker/Bruce plan—and even less that Batman would approve up.

Faint lights barely illuminate the stairway, long and widening as it descends down into darkness. Into a place that was never made for the person Jason is now, only the person he used to be. The person Timothy Drake is now.

Jason may be learning from Bruce again, but he's not learning from Batman. He's sure as fuck not patrolling with the dynamic duo, nor running their comms.

When he turns to tell some variant of this to Bruce, he finds the man has moved much closer in his distraction. The shortened gap catches Jason's breath, just for a second.

“It pays to be softer in between,” Bruce says, leaning in. He's not close enough to share breath, not close enough to exchange body heat, but Jason dizzyingly imagines he is. “Sweet and gentle, when it's not important, so you can push further when it is.”

Jason licks his lips, mouth dry. “I think you're getting off on teaching me, old man.”

Bruce chuckles, ever closer, boxing Jason in against the passageway wall. There's barely any space left. Only up this close does he notice the scant two inches between their heights, have to tilt his eyes just a hint up. He controls his breathing—but he could make Bruce feel it if he wanted to. If he inhaled heavy, let his chest swell up, it would brush against Bruce. If he exhaled the same, it would tickle his cheek.

“I think you're confusing me with you,” Bruce echoes. He leans in, twisting around, lips a hairsbreadth from the side of Jason's neck. He's beaten Jason to the punch, breathing right over the skin.

“Oh, he has quotes now,” Jason says, holding perfectly still, careful to neither increase the distance nor close it.

Bruce closes it for him, soft brush of lips. Jason allows it. Bruce knows he could walk out the door any time he likes, so Jason is still in charge.

The mouth trailing lightly down his neck isn't exactly waiting for orders, though.

Jason swallows, then regrets the obvious motion. “Since you got all my lines memorized, maybe you remember the one about this not working out, just the pair of us?”

“Yes,” says Bruce, drifting up his jaw. It's not even kissing, for all it involves his lips, just...touching.

Hands pluck at Jason's belt.

“Then what exactly do you think you're doing?” He turns his face slightly, and then Bruce is _right there_. Brushing noses distance.

“Call it something to tide you over,” says Bruce, sliding the belt away at a snail's pace.

Jason swears to god, if Bruce tries to fuck him he is gone. No takebacks, no apologies; Batman can catch him on the street the next time he shoots some waste of life. Right now, in this taut in-between, Jason is either going to knee him in the balls, or do something stupid like throw out the whole playbook and kiss him.

He's about half a second away from the latter when Bruce slides down. When Bruce slides _down_ -down.

Kneeling.

It's fucking upsetting he looks so unruffled and in-charge even on one knee, but he does. He might be examining evidence or tying a shoe. About to pull out a ring and propose, Jason thinks farcically. Knowing look in his eyes, Bruce slowly works Jason's pants apart.

Jason, meanwhile, is standing, but half leaned against the wall, arousal fucking scorching up his spine. His face is doing things, he knows it is. Eyes blown, mouth open. He needs to get himself under control, but there's not enough water in the fucking world. Forget the clink of his belt as Bruce sets it down, or his boxers being nudged aside. He's going to burn up just from Bruce _looking_ at him, and then his corpse will immolate itself in humiliation for Bruce knowing how easy he is.

Calm. Cool and unaffected, and Bruce doesn't have to know. He's the one on his knees anyway. Not Jason.

He holds his breath for the first touches to his mostly-soft cock, one large hand curling around the base, mouth brushing over the head. He's not gonna let himself react for just that.

“So you do this for the kid?” Jason asks. Easier to bluster. He's always been able to make a nuisance of himself with words.

“No,” Bruce says, mouthing along the side of his cock. It's already stiffening up, the little traitor. Jason would have loved to make him work for it. The buzz below his spine has other ideas.

Bruce's touches are all light, on the edge of not enough, gently drawing Jason to hardness. It's completely different from Tim's style, determined and straightforward.

He doesn't have any other points of comparison. Jason can count the number of people he's had sex with without being paid for it no problem, and two out of three are beneath this manor. Talia definitely didn't do this. They both had a more direct path to pleasure in mind, and more distant matters occupying their attentions.

Christ. Jason can count the number of people he's had unpaid sex with on three fingers, and even the two that aren't Bruce are still about Bruce.

Wet warmth presses around his cock. Bruce moves to every spot individually, slowly opens his mouth, drags his tongue against each patch of framed skin. It's good—embarrassingly good, considering Bruce hasn't even wrapped his mouth around it yet.

He needs to concentrate on something else. He was saying something. “You got someone else to practice on then, or...?”

“Jason,” Bruce says, before sucking a long stripe up the side in one go, “I don't know if you remember, but carrying on a conversation is hardly conducive to this.”

“Hah,” Jason says, dropping his head against the wall. Not his most eloquent rejoinder. He might be a little pressed for words right now.

Bruce is giving him a blowjob. Bruce is on his knee, giving _Jason_ a blowjob.

Jason breathes for a second, head back. He's the one on his feet, and he needs to act like it. Not lose control, or start moaning and come in five seconds like a teenager again. The soft touches and kisses along his cock have no reason to be so intense. So Bruce is sucking him off. So what? He's done that before—even if Jason can count the number of times on one hand.

Always preceded by some kind of fight or crying, though. That's the strangest part. Bruce isn't making up for anything.

Steeling his reactions, Jason looks down to find Bruce already watching him. As soon as their eyes meet, something glitters in his expression and he shifts to the tip of Jason's cock, finally taking the head in.

Jason breathes in and out, slow and forcibly quiet.

Bruce makes it look easy. No stretch, no strain, no obscene pull on his lips. He's focused, but not on what he's doing like Tim was. He's focused on Jason's face, Jason's body, like the anatomy in his mouth doesn't even require the attention for him to perform well.

To Jason's chagrin, it doesn't. Shudders scurry up his spine as Bruce licks and sucks over the head, not going any deeper. Bruce catches him by the thighs, hands sliding up his sides. Jason hates to think they're steadying him.

He puts a hand on Bruce's hair in retort, tangling it in. He can practically hear Bruce's ensuing expression, a wry question if Jason plans on pulling.

He doesn't. But he _could_.

He could guide Bruce just like he guided the little toy downstairs. Could pull Bruce at a cruel pace, try to force into his throat, fuck his face. Make Bruce either take it or push him back and risk watching Jason walk right out the door. He would leave if he had to, to prove the point. He would. He thinks.

Bruce sucks slowly down, dragging Jason's hand along with him. Jason watches his cock disappear, with nothing to indicate where it's gone. Bruce might not even notice, for all he reacts.

Down, down, down, all the way to the base, until his nose is brushing Jason's pelvis. Bruce swallows, constricting where the cock hits the back of his throat, and Jason lets out a shaky gasp, sagging into the stone wall. Tim is smaller, tighter throat that Jason got deeper in, perfect technique he's surely had years to refine, so it doesn't make _sense_ that Bruce is making Jason fall apart far more.

He pulls back just as languidly, graceful motion and steady suction. Jason swears the eyes up his chest and down to his thighs are just as much of a caress.

Bruce only withdraws to the head. Inside his mouth, a tongue catches what precome has dribbled out, before laving attention over his slit. Jason lets his eyes fall shut. It's okay. Bruce is on his knees—knee, anyway—and he doesn't need to be ordered around to continue, and he's not going to be giving Jason any commands, and it's okay. He can relax, just for a moment.

Repeating the motion, Bruce presses down slowly, swallows around the head butting into his throat. With his eyes closed, it only feels heightened, and Jason releases a breath just barely vocalized enough to be called a moan.

The hands petting his sides are reward for it; Jason knows they are, even with looking. The calming sense is washed away by resentment that Bruce thinks he needs it. His eyes snap open.

He'd half forgotten about his hand, relaxed to cradle Bruce's skull, and tightens it in his hair again. When Bruce pulls back, Jason lets his hips jolt, like it might be an accident, nudging against the back of his throat in a breach of rhythm.

By the look Bruce gives him, he's not buying the clumsy act in the slightest. Jason just shrugs, lazy smirk in place. _If you don't like it..._

Bruce's hands tighten on his hips, holding them against the wall. Jason huffs.

“Hey, if you're not gonna fuckin' give me anything good,” he gripes, like he couldn't one hundred percent come like this.

Bruce rolls his eyes. Jason appreciates that he doesn't entirely pull off. Talking is where they always fuck it up. Much harder for him to piss Jason off with his mouth occupied. And Bruce has always leaned on the physical to express his kinder sentiments.

For just a second, Jason swears Bruce steadies himself, and then he's sinking down, faster and firmer. The swallow repeats, but Bruce is withdrawing before Jason gets the choked moan out. Back down again, picking up speed, and up, until he has a real rhythm going and Jason is panting above.

One hand slides down to cup under his balls, gently kneading. Jason throws his head back, knocking against the wall.

He barely has the presence of mind to catch the other wrist, when it threatens to slip around his ass. Off limits. No consolation prize for Bruce, no half measures to lure Jason into going further. That is _not_ what he's here for.

Bruce doesn't press, though. His hand twists, until he can partially cup Jason's, thumb stroking against it in reassurance. Then it turns to flatten on Jason's hip.

Sinking down, Bruce swallows hard to allow Jason's cock full entrance, and stays there. Jason moans, and this time his hips really do twitch by accident, trying to chase that warmth with or without his agreement. Bruce keeps him flush to the stone, allowing none of the movement to break free.

He retreats just a few inches, breathing in sharply through his nose, and then descends again, swallowing, squeezing, holding Jason in his mouth. Jason tugs on his hair, but Bruce stays down, relentlessly keeping that pressure. Jason jerks, feels the tightness at his core. Too fast, but he's close.

“Yeah, you want it?” he pants. It's the kind of stupid line a mediocre porn actor would use, but he's not thinking hard right now. Just knows he can't let Bruce take him apart in silence.

Bruce's eye flit up, dark and steady. Jason cannot fathom what it would take to break him. The closest he ever got involved a diatribe about Bruce's shaky tether to morality and a cut on Jason's neck.

This is better.

When he tugs Bruce back this time, the man follows his motion. He bobs in on Jason's press, catching the pace quickly. Before Jason can keep forcing him along, Bruce reaches back to catch his hand, remove it from his hair, and slot their fingers together instead. Bruce keeps up the swift pace on his own, perfect friction, holding Jason's hand against his own hip.

His body shudders. Bruce's thumbs rub little circles on his hands, comfort and encouragement, and the wave crests.

Bruce must see it on his face, sucking harder just before Jason comes. He slows to milk Jason through it. As he finishes twitching, held up mostly by the stone behind him, Bruce languidly withdraws, lips held tight all the way up and around the tip until he finally releases it.

There's a bob in his throat as he rises. Jason, panting against the wall, feels his chest buzz with the thought Bruce just swallowed.

Jason disentangles their fingers with some reluctance. Before his own hands can make a mess of it, Bruce is already replacing his underwear, fixing up his pants. He even recollects his belt from the ground, feeding it through each loop without taking his eyes off Jason's face.

When it's circled all the way around, buckle dangling open, Bruce lifts a hand to cup his face. Jason watches him breathlessly, wondering if this is when he says something to ruin it, if this is the break.

Bruce leans in. Jason tastes himself in his mouth.

It's longer than the last kiss. Jason's arms fold around Bruce's shoulders, keeping him close, licking into each part of his mouth. Bruce gives exactly as good as he gets, no more or less. He shifts back without complaint when Jason pulls away.

Bruce finally breaks eye contact to buckle his belt. Jason feels a little bit more present again. The passageway is as dim and dank as ever, no one come up or down to check on them.

“Tided over?” Bruce asks, voice startling after so long in silence.

It's almost a joke, in his flat style. Jason gives it the scant huff of a laugh it deserves. For a second, he was worried Bruce would say—

Doesn't matter.

“Maybe for now,” he says. Can't make it too easy on him, after all.

Fuck, that was worryingly enjoyable.

“Don't recall things that way around very often,” Jason adds, pushing off the wall to mosey downstairs. He's gotta get moving before he leans too hard into the rush of relaxation and melts completely.

“Well, you're so good at it,” says Bruce, joining alongside. He doesn't even sound hoarse, the bastard; his voice is always that low.

Jason rolls his eyes. It's fun to be able to say whatever he wants now, and not have to worry over what Bruce will let him get away with. “Y'know, most people would have a very different reaction to finding out their new twelve-year-old was good at giving blowjobs.”

“Yes,” Bruce agrees. “Most people wouldn't have taken him in.”

–

Robin is suited up and perched on the Batmobile's hood when they reach the bottom. Jason glances over the new set up, but hangs near the entrance.

This is not a place he's meant to be. Not like this anyway. He would happily defile Robin over the car or a dozen other fantasies, but he knows Bruce will let nothing get in the way of Gotham's nightly protectors. They're Batman and Robin for now, and no one else. Jason will be back when Bruce and Tim are.

Maybe just a little exception, as Bruce puts his own uniform on.

Jason saunters over to a wary Robin, hands slung in his pockets. He's very aware of the flavor lingering in his mouth when he tugs the kid into a kiss. His tongue presses in, luring some hint of participation from the kid. Demanding, but not rough.

Tim, if anything, is watching him with more suspicion when he draws back. Jason smiles.

“Well, have a nice patrol, you two,” he calls, strolling back towards the stairs. Jason gives a sarcastic wave over his shoulder, ignoring the feeling of eyes on his back.

Soft when it's not important, maybe he'll try. Doesn't mean he can't fuck with the kid.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't want to look at this chapter anymore, so apologies for whatever typos remain. I am the only beta I have and I got the job through clear nepotism :P
> 
> Good news: I now have a (very vague) outline, in an attempt to not accidentally write myself into a corner! Bad news: now I keep trying to get ahead of myself instead. Writing. It's a nightmare.


End file.
